Tony's Bucket List
by Il fanatico
Summary: CBS released Tony's Bucket List. This is a series of one-shots based off some of the items on the list. Thanks for all of the reviews and alerts! New chapter up: Experience a Wonder of the World  besides Gibbs
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Quite obviously this is not _my _bucket list. I would do some of these things (like master the art of Kung Fu or drive a '65 Aston Martin), though.

**DO NOT FORGET TO READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE!**

1. Master the art of Kung Fu.  
>2. Drive a 1965 Aston Martin DB5 like the one in Goldfinger.<br>3. Discover the meaning of life.  
>4. Catch a shark.<br>5. Date a Bond girl and/or Miss Universe.  
>6. Ride in a motorcycle ball of death.<br>7. Write letter to Roger Ebert re: his reviews of Full Metal Jacket and Benji the Hunted.  
>8. Develop a catch phrase.<br>9. The luge.  
>10. Tell Dad it's okay.<br>11. Watch all Hitchcock films in order of release (including both versions of The Man Who Knew Too Much), pausing only for bathroom breaks.  
>12. Experience a Wonder of the World (besides Gibbs).<br>13. Learn to play the bass.  
>14. Kick McGee's butt at some video game.<br>15. Create DiNozzo coat of arms.  
>16. Ride a Ferris wheel naked. (oops…did that already)<br>17. Get and pass on Gibbs' recipe for steak.  
>18. Visit Bogie's grave.<br>19. Discuss Paris.  
>20. Give a motivational half-time speech.<br>21. Find Jimmy Hoffa, dammit.  
>22. Finish memoir.<br>23. Make cameo in the movie version of memoir.  
>24. Let friends get closer.<br>25. Try space tourism.  
>26. Tell her.<p>

**A/N: **Any specific requests or ideas? PM me or answer in a review. I have already decided on doing numbers 1, 10, 19, 24, and 26. In fact, I will post the one-shot for Item 1 tomorrow, since it is already written.

Remember, I need some requests!


	2. Item 1

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

_#1: Master the art of Kung Fu_

Many men would agree that having the daylights beaten out of you by a female is just downright shameful. As Tony ended up on the ground for the sixth time in as many minutes, he added a footnote: having the daylights beaten out of you by any female who is not a former Mossad assassin is shameful.

"I'm starting to regret this," he groaned, pulling himself up, bruised appendages protesting.

"What was that?" Ziva smirked from above him, barely even breaking a sweat. "Maybe if you had listened to me and participated in some of the meditation, or at least the _stretching_, for John's sake-"

"_Pete's_ sake, David."

She gave him an annoyed look, but helped him to his feet. "Again. This will be your seventh try, maybe-"

Her sentence was caught off as Tony sprang at her, trying to catch her off guard. She let him think he was going to finally win, deftly avoiding his strikes at the last second. A feint was aimed at his clavicle, a distraction from the small foot darting towards that painful place between a man's legs. He was not about to fall for such a trick, and swiftly slid to the side, attempting to put her off-balance. She was a master, though, and knew not to put all her force behind the strike. She tossed some easy punches at him, which were blocked, before spinning around in a fast circle for a kick that was sure to knock him to the floor.

By this time, however, Tony had given up all pretenses of fighting like a kung fu master. So the moment her body began to twist, and though she was still watching him, he grabbed her tiny waist and slung her over his shoulder.

"Tony!" she exclaimed, too stunned to struggle. "Put me down!"

"Uh uh. Not until I get some payback." With that she regained her senses, and started pounding on his back. Even though it hurt like heck whenever a fist caught a soon-to-be bruise, he persevered while selecting a particularly nasty form of revenge.

Tony briefly let go of Ziva's legs, emitting a small yelp from her, and then grabbed them again. Her head was now about level with his backside. It was then that she caught on to what he was about to do.

"I am going to _kill _you, Tony! Do not-"

So he did. One gross bubble of pent-up gas escaped his system and engulfed his partner's head with a stench any skunk would be proud of.

Between subsequent coughs and gags, Ziva rasped out, "You are a _dead man_, DiNozzo!"

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Do not forget to review with more requests!


	3. Item 2

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

"McGoo, if you so much as _consider _dumping me in a sewer, stuffing me in one of the drawers in Autopsy, or, worst of all, send me on a long car ride with Ziva, you _will _find yourself permanently super-glued to your keyboard."

A sharp slap was delivered to his right bicep.

"I-What?" McGee stopped in his tracks, a blindfolded Tony crashing into him. "No, I would never-those are things _you _would do, Tony. Not us. Well, maybe Ziva." The mentioned agent let out a low, almost-suggestive chuckle.

McGee shook his head, continuing to walk towards his destination in the car garage. He heard Tony stumble as he was dragged along by Ziva, who had linked her arm with his.

"All right, let him go, Ziva," McGee said when they had reached their journey's end. He then untied the man's blindfold, and watched an expression of disbelief, horror, and anger map itself out on Tony's face.

"That was _low_, McGee. That was really _really_ low."

In Tony's parking spot, there was nothing but a small, rectangular, black and orange sign, reading:

SOLD.

Tony hadn't even fathomed how to get back at McGee when he heard the honk of horn emanating from behind him.

"Tony!" he heard Ziva call. He whipped around, realizing that she must have had something to do with this particular bit of skullduggery.

But instead, he saw what must be a figment of imagination rolling toward him.

Ziva was at the wheel of a 1965 Aston Martin DB5, exactly like the one in _Goldfinger_. With the touch of a button, she even made the front license plate change. Right then, driving that car, with her hair loose and wild, and her eyes hidden by sunglasses, she could have been a goddess.

"Close your mouth Tony; you will catch spiders," she teased. He didn't even bother to correct herm but instead clamped his mouth shut and walked in a dazed trance to the shining silver vehicle. It was beautiful…it was magnificent…it was utterly Bond-

"Want to take it for a spin?" McGee said from behind him. Tony turned around to look at the man, now with a halo shimmering over his head, and nodded.

"Uh huh!" he replied in a higher-than-normal voice. He heard Ziva get out of the car, and then caught the keys she tossed to him. With a grin, she crossed over to the passenger side door and got in, indicating that she was coming with him. When a malicious thought crossed his mind, he whispered to the junior agent, "Hey did you install _all _of the special toys from the movie?"

The other man caught his drift and smirked. "Not any of the firepower, but I did install _that_."*

His day brightened, Tony clapped a hand on McGee's shoulder before striding over to the silver car. "You're a good man, Mr. Gemcity."

"Happy birthday, Tony."

*_Goldfinger _reference: In the car featured in the movie, Q (the tech guy) made the passenger seat an ejector seat. Remember that Ziva is currently in the passenger seat.

**A/N: **So I did not want to clog up the beginning with a long Author's Note, so I put it here.

HOLY GUACAMOLE! I am simply ASTOUNDED by all the reviews and alerts I received! You guys are great, and totally made my year (or at least, what is left of it). Thank you so, so much, and keep reviewing! Goodness, I can not stop smiling, you guys make me so happy!

I tried to get this out early, so if there are grammar mistakes, I am really sorry. I proofread it four times, because I am a little paranoid. But I may have missed something. Yeah, I know it may not be quite as funny as the previous one, so I will try and do better!

KEEP REVIEWING!

(I think the next chapter will be up Monday/Tuesday, because I have a lot of stuff to do this weekend)


	4. Item 3

_Item #3: Discover the meaning of life._

**A/N: **I have no excuses for you. I said it would be Monday or Tuesday when this was posted, but it was not. I apologize.

**Warning: **This is a little more serious than they previous two.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Many a person has pondered the meaning of life. Why am I here? What is my life all about? What is the meaning of it all?

In the movie _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, the supercomputer Deep Thought comments that no one has really ever even known what the question is that pertains to the meaning of life.

The Monty Python meaning of life was to "try to be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try to live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations." Well, Tony had already tried all that.

He had gotten so desperate as to search for an answer on Google, only to be met with '42'. So he combed through Wikipedia, which gave him not one answer but multitudes: realize one's potential ideals, achieve biological perfection, seek wisdom and knowledge, do good/the right thing, attain spiritual enlightenment, life is bad, and so on. After a few hours of analyzing how he might do such things, he closed the window with a savage click of his mouse.

None of those seemed to really be _his _meaning in life.

People spent so much time speculating about this philosophical topic, he began to wonder if the meaning of life was for its creator to laugh at their wasted attempts.

But no, that just wouldn't be right either.

It wasn't until after many talks with the medical examiner that realization slapped him in the back of the head.

Gibbs slapped heads and built boats while mourning his lost loves.

McGee played videogames and wrote books that were allegedly _not _about his co-workers.

Abby slept in coffins and had a farting hippo.

Everyone had different passions, hates, and habits. Everyone was different, so why couldn't their _meanings _be different, too?

Yes, that sounded about right.

Well, that was another thing crossed off of his bucket list. He had found out the meaning of life, even if he hadn't necessarily found his own.

(The Monty Python version sounded nice and easy)

**A/N: **I warned you it would not be as funny, but I still made a bit of an attempt at humor. And I do not think that avoiding eating fat is Tony's meaning of life, but I think it is something he would have thought of.

Review, please! I love the feedback!

More funny stuff is coming!


	5. Item 4

_Item #4: Catch a shark._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS, _Jaws_, or any of the movies I have previously referenced in this set of stories.

"How about I put you on a hook and throw _you _in the ocean?" Tony teased his junior agent. He, McGee, and Ziva were at Tony's desk, trying to figure out how he could feasibly catch a shark. So far, they had been unsuccessful, but Tony saw hope with this plan.

McGee just looked at him and shook his head. He leaned over Tony's keyboard and typed something into the open search engine. "Haha, very funny Tony. No, but _this _might be an idea…"

"Bad idea, McGee! Bad, _bad _idea!" Tony berated as he clung to the side of the tank. It was an open-top enclosure that also served as an exhibit for the aquarium's tourists. A few fish swam around, doing their best to not be eaten. McGee stood on the platform along the edge of the tank, perfectly calm, although he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Hey, _you _said you wanted to catch a shark. And you don't even have to catch this one. You just have to stay in there for a quarter of an hour."

Tony glanced warily at the thirteen foot beast silently cutting back and forth through the water in the middle of the tank. "How long has it been?"

"Not even two minutes."

He was wearing a diving suit, complete with regulator and oxygen. The breathing piece was not currently on him, of course, because he was talking to McGee. If it had not been attached to him, he probably would be throwing it at the agent.

"Unless you scare it, it will probably not even-"

"Don't finish that sentence, McGee! You'll just jinx me! Oh lord, it's coming over here!" The shark had, in fact, changed its course and was making its way over to Tony's general vicinity.

"Relax, Tony. My friend here at the aquarium told me that this guy is just friendly, and is not usually aggressive. Oh, and its name is Brutus."

"I can't relax. It's a primal fear, not something I can make go away. Like in _Jaws_, people run away from sharks. Nope, sorry, I can't make myself stop being, ah, concerned."

"But maybe I can," said a new voice.

Tony whipped his body around to look at the newcomer, and caused vibrations to ripple through the water. This, in turn, brought his companion in the tank to become more interested in the perfectly edible piece of meat clinging to the side.

Ziva stood at the other end of the enclosure, clad in a suit similar to his. The only difference was that she looked better in it than he did.

"You look funny with that hood-thing on," he commented, trying to ignore Brutus as he came to be just over ten yards away.

She replied in kind, but made no effort to help him. "You do not look too good yourself. You seem rather pale."

Surely his fear was pungent, so he didn't answer. Grinning, she put on her regulator and slipped into the tank.

The shark, barely five yards away, immediately began to turn around as his powerful nose caught her scent. Even through his distorted view of the water beneath him, he could see the large tail fins of the intimidating beast miss him by less than a foot. Obviously, Ziva was more appealing than Tony. With smooth, even, and non-threatening strokes Ziva leisurely made her way towards Tony. He heard McGee move around on the platform and presumably lean against its rail.

He attempted to stay calm by watching her and not the shark. When she arrived next to him, he instinctually groped in the water for her hand. The regulator went back on his face, and together they slipped back under the surface of the water to watch as the shark came to finally greet them.

**A/N: **Do not fret, Brutus is a nice shark and will not eat them. Besides, the aquarium officials probably wouldn't let Tony and Ziva into a tank with a hungry shark. On that note, I must also say that I apologize for any factual mistakes, because I really know nothing about what one would do in order to swim with a shark and what rules apply. Also, this particular shark did not behave as most sharks would, I feel obligated to point out.

Anyways, did you enjoy Tony vs. Brutus? I liked writing it, especially with the _Jaws _theme playing in the background. REVIEW, please!

One last thing, and then I promise this long Author's Note will end. How many of you want a story about Item #7 (Write letter to Roger Ebert re: his reviews of Full Metal Jacket and Benji the Hunted)? I really have no idea what to do for this situation.

Next chapter, Item #5 (Develop a catch phrase) shall be up before Thanksgiving!


	6. Item 5

_Item #5: Date a Bond girl and/or Miss Universe_

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Tony really should have put some thought behind some items on his bucket list. Date Miss Universe? Well, he was doing that right now.

She was gorgeous, of course. She had beautiful skin colored by the sun, and wavy dark hair that matched her obsidian eyes. She wore a small gold dress that hugged her body accompanied by a thin gold chain circling her neck. He couldn't see a scar or any imperfection on her whatsoever. From what he could tell, the only make-up she wore was a little bit of eye-liner to bring out her eyes.

For some reason, she had happened to be at the same coffee shop as him (though, he had to wonder what Miss Universe was doing at a DC coffee shop…). He instantly recognized her, and put on his most charming smile. She grinned suggestively back, and sauntered over to his table. A sense of elation filled him that he was about to have an impromptu coffee-break-date with _Miss Universe_.

Then, as she opened her perfect mouth to greet him, unfortunate realization trickled into his happiness; he remembered things about her, none that were bad, but…

She was Israeli; meaning she didn't speak much English.

Thus, their date didn't consist of much other than slow talking and simple words, nothing of the caliber he was known for.

But what he should have remembered was that many Miss Universe winners of recent years had not been from the States, rather from other countries such as Angola and Israel.

Maybe he should have tried for a Bond girl instead…

**A/N: **Short, yes, but hold your horses! I have another one being posted tonight/early tomorrow! Review, please!

The Motorcycle Ball of Death is up next!


	7. Item 6

_Item #6: Ride in a motorcycle ball of death._

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

He had ridden a Ferris wheel naked. He had fallen in love with a woman whose heart he knew he would have to break. He had swum with a shark. And then there was college; such things shouldn't even be mentioned.

But at this moment, it seemed that he had never made a worse decision in his life. Riding a motorcycle inside a small steel-cage sphere? He liked to call himself a daredevil; this might be a bit excessive.

A Chinese acrobat was giving him instructions, telling him to do this and not do that, don't get yourself killed, yada yada. The flip side of his personality, the less rational side, was all gung-ho and ready to zoom around, adrenaline and insane fear coursing through his veins.

And then he was released, and, gunning the throttle, roared into the cage. The entrance sealed.

Immediately, his world was flipped around and his stomach dropped. He was going so fast that he literally lost all sense of direction as well as his center of gravity. He couldn't tell if he was on the bottom of the cage, the side, the top, wherever. His world consisted of the growl of the engine and rattling of the bike as it flashed around the ball of death.

It was a thrill, but he was scared witless. The motorcycle could easily flip, or he could make too sharp a turn and fly off. He thought to slow down, but was reluctant to do so.

His life flashed in front of him. All the people, the places, the memories; he saw it all and was lost again in nameless terror.

Finally, he eased on the brakes and he imperceptibly slowed until he reached a halt back on the floor of the sphere. He was overcome with a profound sense of vertigo and fell off the seat of the bike. His head spun, ached and he felt ready to vomit. He was dimly aware of people rushing to help him out of the cage, because each of their footsteps echoed inside of his head. He caught a glimpse of his coworkers, and rasped out a comment:

"I just died and visited heaven. McGee, your angel wears a turtleneck."

**A/N: **Just a short note; I learned about the ball of death about a minute before writing this, so next to none of these experiences are probably true.

Did you enjoy this chapter? If none of you object, I will probably skip #7, because I have no idea what to do for it.


	8. Item 8

_Item #8: Develop a catch phrase._

**Disclaimer: **Nothing I mention, reference, or otherwise allude to that is created by someone else belongs to me.

The Terminator had "I'll be back." The Jedi had "May the Force be with you." _Star Trek _had a whole host of catch phrases. Bond, of course, had "Bond, James Bond."

Standing in front of the mirror in the men's room, wearing a dark suit and glasses while testing out "DiNozzo, Tony DiNozzo", he couldn't help but wonder how scriptwriters came up with such catchy catch phrases. He had been trying to find one ever since he was ten (beginning right after a _Star Trek _and _Star Wars_ marathon on his birthday).

His attempts included:

Man's best friend is himself.

Got DiNozzo? Not until after a night at the bar, you don't.

Oh my Philly cheese-steak!

It's not all about the sex.

When it comes to technology stuff, Gibbs passes his boss-ness to me. I give it to McNerd over there.

Don't mess with me, or I'll send my paperclip-wielding Mossad hunting dog after you.

Absolutely none of them were memorable in any way, and thus hardly qualified as catch phrases. He was just about to return to work when he registered a female standing behind him.

"This is not another Halloween costume, is it? At least Fat Elvis was somewhat original."

He grinned, and slid the glasses off his face with classic big-screen style. "I am cool, I am smooth. The ladies chase after me. I am…The Swagman."

**A/N: **So many super-short stories lately? What is up with me? I don't really know…longer stories shall come! Right now, I am also working on another piece, which does not yet have a title, one that you all might be interested in.

The next item (_#8: The luge._) WILL be longer, I promise! I can assure you that #9 (Tell Dad it's okay) is much longer, because I have already written it!

Don't forget to review!


	9. Item 9

**A/N: **I apologize, I have been sick, studying, rehearsing for concerts, and playing sports, so I have had literally no time to write. A steadier schedule will come after next week. Oh, and this is my favorite chapter so far! Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

_#9: The luge._

It had seemed relatively easy, safe, and extremely fun. Only one of those three assumptions had been correct.

_Less than twenty minutes earlier_

"See, that doesn't look so hard, does it?" Tony asked his partner.

"We only saw them for a few seconds, and they were screaming gory murder," Ziva replied. The two agents were referring to McGee and Abby, who they had watched fly along a curve of the icy track on their double luge sled.

Tony rolled his eyes, and continued to bounce on the balls of his feet in an excited way. "Bloody, Agent David, the term is bloody murder. Besides, you and I do not scream."

"Sure you don't," the track supervisor, a male in his twenties who had been eyeing Ziva, commented sardonically from behind them. "The other pair have cleared the track, so it is time for you two to get ready."

Tony and Ziva glanced at each other before following the man, whose nametag read _Joe_, towards the locker rooms.

"You may change in there."

The locker room was barely larger than a storage closet, it seemed. With the lockers lining the walls, actually changing space was minimal. He looked at the suit he had been carrying, and was filled with yet more adrenaline. Going slightly overboard, he had bought luge suits for the four of them, but had had the sense to rent the rest of the necessary equipment. His suit was blue on the torso and black on the legs, with flame designs on each limb. He discovered when he put it on that it was extremely skintight, and contained a plastic membrane. The equally thin body armour did little to hide anything. It was also not very warm. He pulled on the helmet, shoes, and spiked gloves before leaving the claustrophobic space and meeting his partner. The shoes, he quickly learned, weren't really shoes and kept your feet pointed, so walking was an interesting challenge.

For a moment, Ziva couldn't speak when she saw him, she was laughing so hard. "You look…ridiculous!" Tony was offended, also because she didn't say anything about the weight he had worked to shed for this day.

"Well I think you look like a female Santa Claus. But we should still hurry before Joey-boy starts ogling you." Her suit, of course, also fit tightly, but was white at the torso with red legs and accents. He would've gotten her black, but Abby had claimed that color first.

Ziva placed a hand on her flat stomach and said, "Tony!" He just grinned and walked back towards the doors to the track, where Joe, the track supervisor, was standing and indeed staring at Ziva. He held a green double luge sled in his arms.

Tony might've heard a soft snicker from behind him (probably Ziva making fun of how his butt looked in the luge suit), but ignored the sound.

Then, they were nearing the peak of the track's initial slope and getting on the sled. Tony, as the heavier participant, went on the bottom, and Ziva laid herself carefully on top of him, her helmet-covered head resting on his stomach. Joe ran through what to do (for the third time in the past hour).

"I swear, DiNozzo, if you get us killed, I will hunt you down in hell and make you wish you had never lived." He could feel her strong and exhilarated heartbeat through their very thin suits, and noticed how her muscles remained relaxed, unlike his rigid and less mobile ones.

"All right, sit up and get your run going! Remember to keep your head up, movements the same and all limbs attached," Joe instructed. "Someone will meet you at the end of the track…if you make it."

As one, they raised themselves into a sitting position, and grabbed onto the handles used to help them propel themselves forward. After four short and two long repetitions, as Joe had directed, they released the handles and started to glide forward. They then utilized the spikes in their gloves to push themselves further down the slope until they reached a black line under the ice. Quickly lying back down, he felt their heartbeats speed up in direct proportion to the sled's acceleration. They became not Tony and Ziva, but a single, unified, nameless being.

In synchronization that was almost instinctual, they leaned the correct way around the first turn, and he had to bite back a scream of terror and elation. She, with her love of IED-avoiding high speeds must be really enjoying this, he might've noted, had any part of his brain not been tunnel-visioned on the task at hand.

They navigated a few more turns before they were presented with a small hill. Their momentum carried them not only up the slope, but floated them a bit off the ground on the slight downward grade of the other side.

They both, out-of-character, let out short peals of fear. She pressed against him, trying to push the sled down, and he did the same. Barely had the regained what remained of their composure when another turn rose up and they had to readjust their trajectory.

Suddenly, the track leveled out and they saw people standing on the platform, as well as either side of the track, to help them stop. Each person on the sled reached out their hands and rose to a more upright position to slow down. Following Joe's orders, they retracted their right hand and swung to a halt. A combination of momentum, inertia, and utter weariness caused the pair to collapse off of the sled and roll over, so he was still on the bottom, against the cool ice.

His own heartbeat pounded in his ears and as he slowly regained his identity he realized his hand laid across her back. She was spread-eagled over him, and her head next to his.

"Again?" he whispered.

"Ha. Of course. Next month. I must reclaim a natural heart rate first."

"Tony! Ziva! You guys were awesome!" Abby padded over to them, odd-looking in her black and pink luge suit and helmet. McGee was dragged along behind her, not nearly as excited and almost as green as his suit. Ziva pushed herself up, and began to chat with Abby about how she and McGee's ride had been. McGee helped Tony to his feet and the exhausted agents spotted their smirking leader standing on the platform several yards away.

"I still expect you all at work tomorrow."

**A/N: **What did you guys think? I really enjoyed this one, and felt good that it was over one thousand words. I cannot promise a new one this week, because I have to study for end-of-semester exams. When I can, though, I will work on this story!

Don't forget to review!


	10. Item 10

_Item #10: Tell Dad it's okay._

**A/N: **I am sorry that it took me a while to update, I had final exams.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

An emaciated, sorry, and pitiful shell is all that is left of his father. In the months it has been since Junior last saw Senior, the elder man has become frail, sickened, and withered away. He looks nothing like the jolly rotund man Tony can most recently recall.

The doctors told him that Senior had starting drinking even more, and eating less. The man had gone into a state of depression, but cleverly hidden the mental state with a relentless pursuit of various business deals. Last night, he had finally called Tony and tried to explain, but collapsed before he could say more than "Junior?" Tony had McGee trace the call, and broken speed limits to get to his father, while Ziva called an ambulance. After putting him on life support, the doctors and Emergency Room staff had worked for three hours to keep Senior alive and find out what exactly had happened, for Senior was not merely the victim of a simple drunken faint. Now, Tony's surrogate family waited outside the room. His aunts were still somewhere in the airspace.

"Junior?" There came a rasp from the form in the bed sheets.

"Right here, Dad," he replied from just inside the doorway.

"I got wasted, didn't I?"

"Very."

"Did I have a young lady with me?"

"No."

Senior fell silent, pondering something with sunken eyes closed and spindly hands gripping the top blanket with what little strength they could.

"Tony," Ziva said, sticking her head into the room. Tony looked at her and read her blank facial expression and all-telling eyes. Without a word, he followed her out of the room to where a doctor and the rest of the team were waiting for him.

He walked with deliberate steps to the man in white holding a clipboard. As he did, he felt the team form a semicircle around him, providing him with the support and comfort that all present knew he would need, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. Finally, he stopped two steps away from what was probably disastrous news, and his already hard expression became like stone. He did raise his eyebrows slightly in question, a slight ember of hope burning in his gaze.

The man shook his head with eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, obviously having given such an answer more times than anyone could be expected to bear; it was an unfortunate side effect of working in the trauma wing.

It took a second, but then the implication of the response registered in his brain and the world zoomed out of focus; all that he could do was freeze in time and watch a broken record of the man shaking his head over and over. His own heart may have stopped and he would not know.

Few words made it into his consciousness. He heard 'liver' and 'excess' and 'alcohol', along with the last phrase 'There is nothing we can do'. Then the man walked off, and everyone turned to look at Tony. He was dimly aware of a tight hug from a black-haired woman in a lab coat, a few pats on the shoulder by two old men and two younger ones, and then small hands guiding him towards a white two-seater couch. There were voices jumbling about around his ears, and they may have been in Swahili for all he heard.

The person with small hands sat softly next to him, and the inexpensive undersized couch caused the two to be less than an inch from each other. The smell of the person's shampoo wafted through his nasal passages, telling the most alert part of his brain who it was that rested beside him.

Her voice pierced the haze fogging his mind, whispering his name. He reacted slowly, and she placed one hand on the side of his face with a feather light touch, encouraging him to look at her.

"Look at me, Tony." He looked deep into her dark eyes, yet not noticing some of the emotions so blatantly there; he saw sorrow, sympathy, and grief, for the dying man had been naught but kind to her.

She must have noticed the absence in his gaze, for she moved one finger to gently stroke the sensitive spot behind his ear. He jumped, and the fog cleared. She gave a small grin that faded quickly as she advised him to go talk a last time with his father. He had no will to resist, but when he stood up he grasped the hand that had been on his face, displaying a need for support that he would not often acknowledge. After entering the room and closing the door, though, she let her hand fall from his grasp.

He approached his father.

The poor man had his eyes closed, but wearily opened them as his son began to speak.

"Why couldn't you just use your judgment? Why couldn't you just have gotten help?"

"I was a fool."

"You couldn't ever stop, could you? You couldn't possibly think that there might have been someone who _cared _whether or not you were-" he was not able to bring himself to say that word.

"I came to realize there was nothing to do to fix my past mistakes."

"Mistakes can be forgiven! If you had just called, or e-mailed, or visited for Pete's sake…you should not have done this."

"Would you have forgiven my mistakes in your childhood?" This threw him for a loop. He had come into the room expecting for the old man to hide behind a joke or anger.

"…Yes, especially if it meant that we wouldn't come to this!" He gestured at the machines situated like bodyguards around the bed.

The elder's eyes closed again, and the one standing felt his heart began to race in his chest.

"I would have liked some grandchildren." Predictably, the subject was changed, more delicate topics swept under the rug.

He had no reply for the unexpected comment.

"I could have tried again, giving them the…love I never gave you."

Still, he gave no response, instead staring at one of the machines' monitors.

"The two of you," with eyes yet shut, a hand twitched toward the general area between the healthy pair in the room. "Could make beautiful children. Just damn the rules already, Junior."

Finally, he had prepared a reply, only to be interrupted by a loud wheeze and corresponding beep from a machine. Medical staff rushed into the room as bile began to spill on the crisp sheets. Space decreased as his companions hastened to see what the commotion was all about. He yelled something over the din that was silent in his ears, something that the recipient might never hear. Her arm wrapped around his waist, and she turned his body to face away from the wall of white coats around the bed. With her free hand she pushed his head downward onto hers.

More machine-made sounds broke the constant hurried commentary of the attempted life-savers, and he cringed at each one. He heard her whispering to him, soothing him, acting as his defibrillator.

All went silent when even after many electric shocks the awful machine showed a flat line. He heard a sniffling sound from his left, presumably where his favorite forensic scientist was held in the probie's arms.

He pulled himself away from her, pushing his way through the people who had failed to save his father's life. It was not that he was mad at any of them; no, he was made at his father for bringing this upon himself, and at himself for not checking up on Senior.

He placed a hand on a lifeless shoulder and whispered so quietly and hoarsely he could barely hear himself, "I forgive you, Dad."

**A/N: **I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know the description says 'Humor' but this came into my head and I thought it really fit for this situation.

Anyway, I am thinking that #12 (Experience a Wonder of the World [besides Gibbs]) will come next. I can think of something funny for that, but not for #11, watching all the Hitchcock films and stopping only for bathroom breaks. So if no one objects…

Review, please, as always!


	11. Item 11

_Item #12: Experience a Wonder of the World (besides Gibbs)_

** A/N: **I haven't said this in a while, so THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of my reviewers, your feedback really means a lot to me. Keep it up, please!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

"You think this will actually work?" One voice whispered while bending over the product of two mischief-intended brains.

"Of course it will, Timmy. _We _made it."

"Good morning, Tony," Ziva said brightly as her partner entered the bullpen. The team had been assigned to an earlier shift than normal, thus having to arrive at the office at 0500 rather than 0700 hours.

"Hmph. This barely qualifies as morning," he grumped, flopping down into his chair and leaning his head back. He was dressed in his usual button-down shirt, coat, pants, and tie, but there was something distinctly disgruntled about his appearance. It may have been the button missed when putting on his shirt, or the very messy hair that was typically the most groomed part of him.

Ziva just chuckled softly and returned to surfing on her computer. McGee entered just then, looking a little less like he had just rolled out of bed, though with faint circles under his eyes. What Ziva noticed, and Tony failed to, was that there was all a glint of something very much awake and secretive in those green irises.

"This isn't a trick of yours, is it, McPrankster?" For the past week, the two male agents had been in an extensive prank war, refusing to be outdone by the other.

"Come on, we got a dead petty officer down at the docks," Gibbs said, walking past them towards the elevator. Tony groaned, glared suspiciously at the McGeek, but joined the team in their exit, pausing only long enough to snatch a breath mint and comb out of his desk; he couldn't have anyone thinking of him as a _complete _slob.

"I think you would look great in _that _one," Tony said quietly, his breath tickling her bare neck, whilst pointing to a bikini on the woman's magazine. She was lounging in a chair on her yacht, waiting to give the investigating team her witness's statement.

"Umph," she said disgustedly, pulling away from him. "Take three steps back." Confused, he complied. He became aware of wetness under his arms, even though he had only been outside in the 70 degree weather for less than twenty minutes. The NCIS windbreakers were black, but he usually didn't sweat this easily.

Once returning to the office, he rid himself of his current sweat-stained shirt and pulled on the spare in his desk. Upon hearing a laugh from across the aisle, he glanced over and saw Ziva grinning at her computer screen.

"What? Is it McGee dancing the Bamba?" He hurried over to look over her shoulder, but she quickly closed the window.

"Go away, Tony," she shooed him from her. He sneered at her, but left the bullpen for Autopsy.

"Dear God, Anthony, I can smell you even over our poor petty officer! Are you out of both breath freshener _and _deodorant?" Ducky reprimanded half a minute after Tony entered the land of the frozen and freshly minced dead.

"Sorry, I don't know why, it has just been this problem I have been having today." Tony took a step away from the body, pulling his jacket closer around his body to hide the sweat stains that he felt forming abnormally quickly.

"Did you consume an excess amount of fiber last night?"

"No…" Tony replied uncertainly.

"Any digestion problems? Are you having trouble urinating?"

"No."

"Then you either have a rare disease the name of which I seem to be forgetting…"The medical examiner glanced down at the corpse, seemingly asking for help. "Ah, oh well. Or, maybe…OH." If Tony's life had been a cartoon, a light bulb would have just popped up over Ducky's head. "Clever. Very mischievous. Anyways, I do not have anything of substantial importance to your case at this moment, so unless you would like to watch me complete this autopsy…"

"I'll go catch up with Abby," Tony left the room with a confused look, for none of Ducky's cryptic and half-complete musings had resolved his current problem. Ducky just chuckled to himself and possibly to the dead man.

Both McGee and Abby were in her lab, working dutifully on some piece of electronic evidence. Her music played from her speakers, though not quite as loud as usual, probably for the sake of McGee's ears.

"Do you need something, Tony?" The forensic scientist inquired without turning around. In a fit of frustration, Tony let out an annoyed sound and slapped his hands on his thighs.

"Do I _really _smell _that _bad?" He demanded of them. The two glanced at each other, and turned to face him simultaneously. Abby was grinning like the Cheshire cat and even McGee was fighting laugher, a smile, or both.

"Would you like a breath mint, Tony?" McGee held up a small parcel exactly matching the one Tony had snatched from his own desk early that morning. Suddenly, the hint Ducky had dropped made sense.

"You _did not_." Of course they did. Who else would have the brains our equipment needed to concoct a drug that would not only put his sweat glands on overdrive and worsened his morning breath, but could be disguised in a breath mint? "I hate you. Both of you."

McGee kept right on smiling. "Revenge is beautiful, is it not, Tony? I think I win."

At the end of the day, even after being unsuccessful at procuring the antidote, Tony had to admit that McGee had done exceptionally well. It was, he grudgingly had to confess, a very good prank, and at this moment he couldn't come up with a trick that would satisfactorily pay the agent back.

A Wonder of the World it would be if Tony was forced to admit defeat in a prank war, especially to McGee. Maybe, just maybe, he could catch McGee singing…that would be priceless blackmail, he thought.

**A/N: **I am sorry that it has been so long since I updated, I took a hiatus over the holidays. And yeah, this one shot doesn't quite fit with the prompt, but my creative ideas had hit rock bottom.

I hope you found this update at least minutely amusing, or at least appreciated McGee's larger role. The next couple of updates might be kind of short, (like, less than 1,000 words, but not drabbles), if that is okay with you readers.

Thanks for reading, and please review!


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